Shadowbane

Rhett lay slumped against the wall outside Myrin’s door, snoring deeply. He must have been watching her for hours to be so tired.

This Kalen admired. Few men willingly stood guard until they dropped from exhaustion. What would Gedrin Shadowbane, the first of the line, say of this one?

Likely that the boy talked entirely too much.

At his belt, Vindicator felt warm, as though reacting to Rhett’s proximity.

“I’m glad you like him,” Kalen said, both to the sword and the sword’s old wielder.

Myrin sat in the room, surrounded by floating images. Cross-legged, she floated several hands off the bed. She moved images back and forth, mumbling to herself.

“This,” she said. “No, like this. No, I seem younger here …”

She sounded bone-weary, her voice crackling as though she’d had nothing to drink in days. She looked thinner than usual-ragged.

“Myrin,” Kalen said. “Do you-?” No, that wasn’t the right question. Not yet. He would begin gently. “What are you about?”

“Well met, Kalen,” Myrin said. “Just a little world-rending magic. Nothing serious.”

“I see.” He couldn’t tell if that was meant for a jest, but decided not to press. Kalen pointed at the tiny Myrins sculpted of her magic. “And those?”

“Umbra’s memories … and others. I just can’t decide where to place them.”

“Memories?” Kalen asked.

“Oh yes,” she said. “Umbra had many memories of me. We were lovers, I think.”

“Lovers?” At his side, his hand made a fist so tight that blood trickled. When Kalen noticed, he loosened his fingers. “Is that what you saw? Love-making?”

“Yes, or perhaps we were interrupted before we could, I don’t really know,” she said. “But the point is, he knew me over a period of time-he saw me grow and age.”

“Right.” Kalen looked at a plate of hard cheese and black bread left untouched on the bed. “Have you eaten anything today?”

“What a completely irrelevant question,” Myrin said. “The best one is this-look.” She pointed toward a central image: Myrin, blushing, looking darling as ever, her eyes sparkling. Her lips moved, but the images conveyed no sound. “He told me my age-I was twenty in that moment. Twenty! Only”-she frowned-“I don’t know how long ago that was. And I look the same age in all these other memories.”

“But you were twenty,” Kalen said. “For certain?”

“I said it myself, in the memory,” she said, her voice wavering. “It had to have been years ago, however- before whatever happened to Umbra to break him. The Umbra who remembered her-I mean, me-was young. Handsome, or at least not mad. I might be older than I thought.” She gave him a devious smile, one that betrayed a certain madness that came with exhaustion. “Maybe I’m older than you, fancy that?”

It was time. “Myrin, do you want to talk about it?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “It?”

“What happened to Umbra.”

“Oh.” She looked away. “No.”

He thought he smelled wine on her breath. “Have you been drinking?”

“Yes.” A half-empty wine bottle sat on the sideboard.

“And you haven’t eaten?” Kalen frowned. “You need to rest.”

“Pah!” Myrin turned back to her images, looking over them again. “Rest is for those who know themselves,” she said. “I’ve discovered something very important and I’ll not rest until I-damn!” One of the miniature Myrins wavered and faded. “I can’t concentrate to maintain so many images at once. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Listen to your body.” Kalen glanced at his numb hands. “And be glad it speaks.”

“My body tells me less than the memories do.”

“Then I’ll tell you,” Kalen said. “You’re worn out. You need to eat, drink, and rest.”

“No I don’t.” She veritably trembled. “I need to do this! I need-”

“Myrin, you’re allowed to be upset,” Kalen said. “You just killed a man.”

“That’s debatable,” she said. “Whether I killed him, I mean.”

“Myrin.” Kalen took her shoulders in his hands, seizing her attention. “Rest.”

Myrin twisted away. “Did you know you wouldn’t turn to dust when you touched me?”

Kalen shrugged. He hadn’t even thought about it.

“Well.” Myrin broke their linked gaze. “Fine-I’ll drink something. Here.”

She put out her hand and a half-drunk bottle of wine floated to her. She caught it and tipped it over her mouth.

“Easy!” Kalen took the bottle away after she drained two big gulps. “Know your body and its limits.”

“I know my body,” Myrin said. “I just-I want to know me!” Myrin’s images swirled. She had to assert her will to pull them back into order. A vein bulged at her temple. “These memories are who I am, don’t you see? Look at this one … and this!”

She waved two images forward-the blue-gleaming girl she’d been in the alley in Waterdeep, wreathed in flame, and another Myrin, crouching and struggling to hold a magical shield against a necromantic assault.

“I hardly recognize those women,” Myrin said. “I mean, that’s me, but look how powerful I am. Can you imagine, Kalen, if I could unlock that power? How much good I could accomplish!” Her words slurred as she spoke. “Kalen, I feel dizzy.”

Her images vanished. She reeled and might have fallen onto the bed if he hadn’t caught her in his arms. She murmured, and he lowered her to the blankets.

“It hurts, Kalen,” she said. “Why does it hurt so much?”

“Killing should never be easy,” Kalen said.

“That’s just it,” Myrin said. “I didn’t kill him. He … he was carrying something inside him, and … I just wish I could remember!”

“You’re pushing yourself too hard,” Kalen said.

“Perhaps you’re right,” she said. “Perhaps I’m being a fool. This city, Toytere … Gods, you must think I’m a fool.” She sagged back and covered her face with one hand.

“I don’t,” Kalen said. “I don’t understand why you’d trust Toytere, who’d sell you for a few silvers, but neither do I doubt you. You must have a reason.” He thought of Flick instructing food to be sent to the needy. “You’ve made me believe.”

Myrin offered a wan smile. “I have to believe people can change,” she said. “It’s like Rhett said: you cannot expect a man to become better than he is, if you do not trust him. And I have to trust you or …”

“You mean Toytere,” Kalen said.

Myrin furrowed her brow. “What?”

“When you say ‘you,’ you mean Toytere.”

Myrin gave him a faraway look. “I’ve-I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m saying.”

“You need rest.” He pulled the light blanket over her.

“Aye, that might help.” She put out her hands. “My grimoire, please.”

Kalen noted her spellbook, bound in leather dyed bright pink. He smiled at her resolve, even if he was not about to give her that book. “You need rest, not spells.”

“Ooh!” She stuck out her tongue. “Just a little reading before sleepies.” She clasped her forehead. “Gods, did I really just say that? Out loud?”

“Friends do not let friends weave world-destroying magic from their cups.”

“Heh!” Myrin hiccupped loudly. She covered her mouth. “Sorry.”

Kalen stood but Myrin caught his wrist. Power tingled in her fingers. Even he, with his layers of dead flesh, could feel the warmth of her touch.

“Is that what we are, Kalen?” she asked. “Friends?”